


Want You, All Fucking Day, All Fucking Night

by ASignificantWhisper



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Bondage, Bottom Ian, Dirty Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Sexting, Top Mickey Milkovich, slight bit of breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASignificantWhisper/pseuds/ASignificantWhisper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian can't get enough of Mickey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Want You, All Fucking Day, All Fucking Night

**Author's Note:**

> Yaaaaaaaaaaaay, I managed inspiration and energy enough to finish something and post it. ^_^  
> I think this is literally the smuttiest and dirtiest thing I've ever written. It ended up being pretty long, with no real purpose but some sexy smut & fun.
> 
> The conversation Ian has with his therapist, I'm kind of basing it off ones I had with my doctors before. Also : note that Mickey has a new nickname for Ian. Med Siren. Siren because of the ambulance and Ian's wicked ways and hair, then the med because his EMT job. ;) 
> 
> It's late and I'm tired so if there's repetitive words or mistakes, I apologize. I edited this to a T, but I might've missed some? Anyways, let me know what you think? 
> 
> Comments and kudos, please! <3 
> 
> Find me at my Tumblr : (@wroteclassicaly.tumblr.com)

He sits here, atop the cold seat, the cover hard under his ass, only the scrappy pink towel he laid down providing some ease for the flesh to wood material. _Wood._ He wants to laugh outloud, but it gets caught on a winding moan that shoves by brutal force at his lungs, his fingers halting their movements on his swollen cock. He's fascinating himself by letting go to indulge in the pressure that throbs between his legs. _So good._

 _Has it been an hour?_ _Why is time suddenly important?_ Oh, yeah, because Mickey will be home from work soon and he's wondering how long he's been in here without being able to hold himself together by not whacking off before his sexy plan can take place  _Failing. Totally._

He'd been to his doctor last week to make sure this all wasn't something he needed to avoid or control, whether it felt natural to him or not, because he refuses to let this fucking disease cause him to spiral and hurt the stability he's gotten graced with - in his finally pieced together life - again. He would rather fucking check himself into the hospital than hurt Mick, he's aware of this now. He's established that he'll always love Mickey Milkovich in this terrifying, possessive, off this plane of existence way. Except this time Ian plans on doing it right.

 _Mickey_ , he always wants Mickey Milkovich, though. Especially after they got back together, and now. It's like he's on the cusp of starvation if he's not anywhere near the older man's proximity. Hyper-sexuality doesn't really register in his brain when it comes to his bedroom life with his partner. Not at first. Loving Mickey, desiring him has never left Ian's raw instincts. It's hot wired into him as much as his genes from Monica are. Mickey's there, here, with him. He's in his brain, his damn heart, and he's not going anywhere.

He isn't craving anyone else, he had told Jenna - his therapist. Just wants his boyfriend. Nothing but Mickey. Thinking about Mickey, overwhelmed by how he can't stop twitching in his seat over the guy. He hasn't felt his libido this out of whack since his teenage years, or his first few manic phases. But even those times - they can't top this one.

**~*~**

_**(One week earlier)** _

_Jenna had pegged him a clipboard of new questions, some of his old ones in his charted files, then settled his geared up anxiety by reassuring him that there's a difference in mania that's set off by the chemicals in the brain, that really only go one way when he's up on that high, to the ones that are attached to him by heart and a clear head. If there is such a fucking thing for him anymore. In other words? Jenna had told him to ask himself a series of questions that he already has the answers to, to shut down the panic about thinking his constant want for his boyfriend might be something that his fucked brain is conjuring in stirs - to blow his life apart on them again._

**_1\. Are you having any other symptoms? Any other emotions? Depression? A lot of energy that you feel like never seems to end?_ **

**_2\. Do you feel different, off? Are you looking at things different like when you get low and the color in everything fades?_ **

**_3\. Are you thinking about doing these things with anyone other than your partner?_ **

_Ian didn't need to think on number three. And that was enough to calm him into considering Jenna's other questions. He has been on schedule with his medication. His environment full of color, vibrancy, normal multiplied a thousand times better. He is okay to wake in the morning's, happy to kiss his lover, to eat that burnt breakfast they both try to make together so they can enjoy it with one another before their day starts. Even when the scheduling is different for his placing shifts with the EMT crew. He caught himself smiling at the thoughts of it, his routine rendezvous with Mickey, prompting Jenna to give him that friendly snark that makes him so comfortable coming to her in the first place._

_"See, Ian? Do I have to spell it out for you? Because I'm pretty sure it's pretty fucking-- shit, you didn't hear me say that! Pardon me, I just can't spell out H-O-R-N-Y on a piece of paper.... Dammit!"_

_"You sure you don't need to see someone here too, Jenna?" Ian grins, knowing damn well that she gets flustered when she lets the sass flow free._

_"It's not protocol to discuss things of vulgarity with my patients. I'm not a sex therapist, Ian," Jenna replies with a whistle, though she's about to snort herself into the cheaply carpeted floor._

_"Man up, Miss J, we're all adults here."_

_That got her to shake her head, pushing her dirty blonde hair back. "True, true. Alright, fine. We'll go with a more technical term than --"_

_"Horny," Ian mocks her, about to let out an unmanly giggle._

_"Quit taking the piss, alright? What is it with you, Gallagher? Your insurance better be tipping me for all this extra advice, cause'."_

_"Taking the what? If you're British then I'm really fuckin' offended there's no tea or little sandwich thingies in here for me to eat, Jenna."_

_"IAN! Basics, seriousness pushing forward. You're doing okay, okay? You and Mickey are getting to know each other again, so it's an overwhelming, more high octane version of the newlyweds-combined with the old married couple stage. You tell him, you call me, you both come in if something, anything else feels off, alright?"_

_Ian gives her the most brisk nod he's ever given in his entire life span._

_"You know the signs for you by now, you've went over the safety plan with Mickey, with your family, your work shift team at the station, correct?" Another nod from Ian._

_"I'm on speed dial, the doctor available to treat you for emergencies if I'm out, is also on backup standby. If you get a little extra turned on, don't worry so much. I know it's difficult, but we talked about the steps. Having patience with yourself, getting used to having Mickey back in your life - all this extra sexual arousal is the most normal thing for any young couple. But what's important is that you're fine and that you know you're doing perfectly, and outstandingly fine, yes?"_

_Ian smiles, a little bashful at the praise. He doesn't really have too much a choice. Either work with the meds, keep himself together as best he can, or let it all go to hell and watch himself slip further underneath the dark, wet blanket he's managed to shred halfway apart._

_"If you need it, which I highly doubt, I can always refer you and Mickey to a sex therapist if you're--"_

_"No, no fucking way. Mickey, nor myself are comfortable with that. I've got... No, we've got this," Ian whispers to himself, or so he thinks. He raises his head to find Jenna backing him in agreement._

_"Yeah, Ian Gallagher, you do."_

**~*~**

Ian fists himself into his slick palm, giving one stroke as he sways out for his discarded jeans on the hamper beside him. He needs that two way mirror, that undeniable flare in his gut he gets from filming himself for Mickey's pleasure. He's never done this, not for anyone but Mickey. His stomach tightens pleasantly with his rising form. He switches his phone on video mode, adjusting it in a prop on the corner shelf beside the mirror, over the sink. His head drops in between his shoulder blades in a downcast look at his leaking cock. He breathes in that adrenaline rush that comes with doing something this intimate for Mickey. But he doesn't falter. One outstretching arm, one long finger taps the video button red.

Ian uses his left hand to prop on the wall beside the mirror, making sure he has balance, and giving his boyfriend a full view of his body. His hips jut into the sink, the cool porcelain against his knees. He adjusts his focus to the camera, smirking and raising a sharp red brow like he knows gets Mickey into his arms in seconds flat.

"So good for you, Mickey. Wanna watch? You're such a good boy that I'm gonna be fucking rowdy for you." His fingers tug along his shaft, twisting, knuckles dragging along the surfacing vein on the underside.

Ian's eyes close, then open, taking in his fucked out reflection in the cracked glass. He stares back at himself so wild, so free. He's gaping, pupils blown, patches of red soaked into his skin. Sweat slicks his back to his biceps. He's been holding off.... _So long._ His teeth sink his bottom lip, biting it hissing harsh, warping his posture into a thrust.

"Fuck, Mickey, baby." Ian rolls his head, swiveling his hand down to roll his balls one at a time, laughing into the expanse of the bathroom.

He flicks a sharp tongue to the edge of his teeth, it pressing saliva out onto his lips in a squelch. He pants, rocks harder, dragging his thumb pad over the slit, smearing the pre-come down his cock, turning so the phone will capture every single inch of the creamy white substance sheathing him in a sopping wet hold. Then he draws it right out to the point his toes dig into the rug mat below, his heels raising him off the floor on bare feet. Ian starts pumping his cock at a spiraling pace, growing dizzy with the floating shapes dancing in front of his vision.

"Oh god, Mickey. Shit, just like that. Gettin' me so fuckin' hard. Want you to bend me over and let me take it like a bitch in heat for you. Yeah." Ian's wide eyed, breathless at the words spewing, unraveling on their own accord. He doesn't care to backtrack.

He edges off, yanking his hand away from his shining cock, the pain of an unreleased orgasm knotting tension into his back, crying out and begging, licking at his stomach with whiny pleas and screams. His form bowl legged- stems to the phone, he takes back with him, propping it on the stool bench he brought with him, inches from the curtain-less tub. He stops the video after a foggy screen kiss, hitting send. Mickey is probably waiting for his smoke break, his phone tucked safely in his jeans. This gives Ian a devilish amount of time.

With his phone paused, hovering over record, Ian grabs the bottle of lubricant from beneath his strewn out under shirt he wears to work. God, he's practically coming all over untouched at the thought of working himself open. It's not once in a blue moon that he bottoms or does this, nah, but it's not near as much as Mickey. He pops his props, his guy fucking takes it and gives back with as much ferocity.

Soon after Ian has the liquid on his fingers, spreading them out to watch it glob to the flesh, he uses his clean hand to press play on his phone, straddling the side of the tub, one leg in, one leg out, he grips it, raising himself enough that he can easily part his cheeks after finding solid footing - to circle his rim. He shies away at first, gazing longingly at the camera, wanting for Mickey. He blows out a huffing sigh, his finger nudging his hole, sliding right in with little resistance. It's tight, hot in there. So unfamiliar, yet familiar all the same. Getting used to the first two fingers is a pleasant sting Ian reminds himself he wants more of. Letting Mickey have this control over him. It's just what they should have sometimes.

He's knuckle deep in the third and final finger - eyebrows knitting together at the way his rim swallows the digits right up. Like they were made to be there. "Fuck, shit, this fucking really hurts and feels really fucking good, and wish you were here to feel how it feels, Mick."

He can almost taste the minty breath of Mickey's loudly chanted statement. _'Quit babbling, Gallagher.'_

He grins, coating his lips with a fresh wave of saliva to keep the parch at bay. It's enough. He wants a little stretching pain. He can handle it. It's how he likes it. His fingers slip back from him easily enough, his body shaping to bring the final item from the tub. He holds the semi large dildo up to the camera for Mickey's visual inspection, grinning at the fond memories.

"Think you'll like one that's been up my ass a little better," Ian spits out, using the suction on the bottom to attach it to the tub.

He covers it in a two handed twist with a generous amount of lube, raising himself again, his feet plant solid, back on either side of the tub. Ian loves to watch things disappear inside himself, inside of Mickey. He always has. There's something so fucking sexy about how it looks, comparing to how it feels. This isn't any different. He keeps himself open with his left hand, lining the drenched faux cock to his rim, bouncing himself onto a little of it so he can rework one hand for leverage on the bath. He lets his eyes head for the phone this time, aware it'll get Mickey more this way.

And boy does it get him. Ian watches in a slack jawed self-appreciation as he drops himself down the toy, his ass stretching around it with a piercing burn so harsh that he claws into the tub, groaning. He's fetching breath on dormant gasps for air when he bottoms out on top of the thing. It's weird how it comes natural to him to start a rocking rhythm that works. He's a little unsteady at first, that is until he can almost see blue eyes underneath him, watching him, holding, hoisting him up and down on his cock, knocking them both breathless. Ian cries out, swiping at the plastic tub siding, his nails digging into his own ass to keep himself spread as he works, bounces in a beguiling circle.

"All for you, Mickey Milkovich. You fuckin' put me in my place tonight, baby. Like this. Let me take your goddamn cock, want your pretty cock inside me." He shakes, knees buckling. He's teetering near the dangerous precipice, jagged rocks angrily thrashing at him. He can't deny this high again. He has to let it flow or he'll go a different kind of insane.

He knows the probing ways he gets to Mickey's spot, but finding his own is a little more tricky. He isn't wavering in the least, nuh-uh. Able-bodied, driven by the blinding desire to come and cry Mickey's name like the fucking mantra wrapped in prayer that it is - Ian pivots over the toy, the slurping sound squishing out in echoes across the room. He grits his teeth, tilting his head back, eyes stinging with moisture, scratching for his orgasm.

He doesn't have to wait long. He hits the spot that makes his mouth fall open and Mickey's name comes right off it. He might've screamed, he can't remember. His cock twitches, not touched, shooting his long awaited release all over the tub. He slows his sloppy thrusts, whimpering Mickey's name, knuckles slamming into the surface below him. It subsides after several slow moments, his chest heaving, fluttering. He lets it coast a few more seconds before he's sliding off the toy, wrapping it in his clothing after he turns the video option off, sending it to Mickey - who by now, is on his last smoke break. He's damn near skipping spent, back to their bedroom, discarding the items and seeking out the next one.

**~*~**

After his meds and a quick TV dinner, Ian is back in his and Mickey's room, candles lit all over, music on pause, ready to be played. He's eyeing the cock ring, making sure he has the keys to the handcuffs handy when his phone starts buzzing violently - the ringtone of Dawn Golden's Discoloration alerting Ian to the call. He's trying to play nonchalant, picking up on the fourth ring to an interruption.

"Your fucking ass is dead meat, Ian."

There's heat behind the words. Oh sweet, scorching heat that makes Ian stretch out lazily across their mattress, relaxing against the phone.

"I already know, see, Mick? That's why I was prepping for it."

There's a long silence where Ian thinks Mickey might've punched something or someone out of frustration. He has a way of getting to the blue eyed beauty like that. Ian would purr if he could. His chest is light, but the butterflies are loose inside him. He's stroking his finger over the contact picture of Mickey on the lit phone screen. "I know you liked them, baby. Can't stop thinking about you. Gettin' me so hard all the fucking time, Mick."

"Fucking bitch. You know I can't here." Mickey hisses, his tone winding in approving curls around each word.

"Yeah, and?" Ian is in for it, he's building it, poking at his beast.

"Wait until I fuckin' get home."

"You get off now, yeah? Bet you're hard already, leaking through your boxers. You wanna touch your perfect cock, don't you?" Ian raises on an elbow, his dick already rousing for the occasion.

"Why did you send me those? How did you.... plan this? I thought you were workin' late?" Is Mickey's retort, a slight blush to his voice, if there is such a thing. Ian can only picture the image on the other end.

He's softly giving Mickey his answer to his begging question. "I got off early for you. Been wanting you so bad. To be with you. I need you to just come the fuck home already and pound me into our bed, okay? Please, Mick?"

"Yeah, you ready for my cock tonight, Gallagher? Gonna take it all like a slut for me? Just me?" Mickey rasps back, taking the charging electricity and blowing apart the fuse box.

"Come home. Now," Ian barks, shaking trying to hold the phone, a pulsating surge lapping at his dick.

The line goes dead and Ian fits the cock ring into place, laying back into Mickey's two pillows.

**~*~**

There's soft music playing, dirty shit Ian docked off the Magic Mike XXL soundtrack when he hears Mickey's abrupt rush into the house. Keys are dropped, door is slammed. The footsteps are so heavy that Ian has to force himself to not close his eyes at the intimate intensity awaiting him. Mickey is twisting their door open, kicking it closed so hard the hinges protest. His jacket is already gone, his back against the door. He's breathing heavily, lips parted and wet. Ian keeps that hazy green to blue ratio - eyed focus, petting himself down to the restricting ring, right where Mickey's eyes are immediately drawn.

He crumbles into shell shock, eyebrows raising into his hairline in surprise at Ian. He comes closer, toeing off his boots to climb into the bed on his side. His blue eyes look so lush, dark in contrast to the glossily shaded - pupil blown black. His nostrils are flaring, teeth gnawing in his bottom lip. His signature tick. Ian's heart is racing, pounding against his ribcage like bongos turning his bones to ash. Mickey's hand slides across his abs, dipping into his V-line, stopping to pull at the happy trail of red that causes Ian to inhale sharply. His other hand, propped by his elbow, permits his fingers a drop in to comb over Ian's damp auburn hair, thumb drawing across Ian's lips.

"You're so fucking perfect, man." Is Mickey's first response, drinking Ian's sweaty and flushed form in. Not his forte of dirty talk. And Ian arches into him like a rutting animal.

"Take off your clothes, and then touch me." Ian gets out through slow movements across his cock.

Mickey disregards, clucking his tongue to his cheek. "You know what your little shows did to me at work, Gallagher? I could barely fuckin' walk my happy ass to the car. You think I'm gonna listen to you now?"

"I was hoping not." Ian smarts off, his eyes connecting with Mickey, who is straddling him in an instant, purposely sliding his jean covered erection over Ian's, making the youth choke on a gulp of air.

"The fuck was that, tough guy?" Mickey is playing back with him, ghosting his hands across the dusted specks of arousal across Ian's chest, to the nipples and red chest hair.

Mickey swallows, humping against Ian, leaning in to bite down on one, Ian slapping a hand around Mickey's neck. Mickey shakes his head against Ian's collarbone where he's currently sucking in a punishing mark - effectively pinning the ginger's lanky arms above his head. He spots the handcuffs, already knowing his fucking dork's dick head, like the other head he knows on Ian's shoulders. Mickey grazes Ian's jawbone in a handsome dazzle, arching back in that special way that makes Ian feel out of his league being the bottom. Mickey is fucking good at sex. Riding Ian's common sense right out of his head.

He's grateful this man gave him another chance. He's burning, fuck he's on fire. His body is practically caving in on itself to have Mickey dominate him, fill him. This is what he needs to tonight, this is what he wants to give Mickey. Control, trust. Himself. He can't hold back anymore, moving to kiss Mickey's mouth, tongue rudely parting his lips for access. Mickey grants it, dropping the handcuffs he's picked up on Ian's chest in a small chain pool. Ian's eyes open at the cool metal, an awed, joyful smile he gives Mickey.

"All this for me, Ian? The cock ring? The cuffs? Huh, Med Siren?"

Ian's in a honey roll daze, his wrists closing together, draping his arms above his head.

Mickey is fervent, sizing Ian over all at the same time he sheds himself of his long black button up shirt. His chest is bared to Ian, who memorizes the tattoo of his name across Mickey's chest with exquisite admiration. He swallows, about to apologize again for how he acted back then. Mickey cuts it, leaning down to capture Ian's mouth in a kiss, working a hand between their bodies to undo his own belt, button, and zipper. He reigns in one of Ian's hands, Ian watching his fingers wrapped in tattooed knuckles - disappear into the heat of Mickey's jeans, palming his very hard cock.

Their lips flood apart with a pop, still rounding each other's mouths with famished breaths. Mickey's forehead presses against Ian's with a sticky moist. "Say sorry again and I'll cut your tongue outta your fuckin' head. We're not back there, Ian. We're right here. Like this. Me and you. You hear me?"

"I love you," Ian whispers, kissing Mickey at the corner of his mouth, letting Mickey latch him into the slight biting metal restraints.

Mickey has to get off Ian to discard his clothing. And he is aware like the cocky shit he is what his slow undressing backside up - does to Ian. The cock ring tightens against his shaft, his erection suffocating in an ocean of need. It's not the urge for Mickey's ass to be around him, but for Mickey to fill him, claim him. They'd gotten their HIV testing done back before they first started having sex again, so the condoms in the drawer rarely get used. Mickey looks towards their nightstand, distracting Ian with his soft skin and body thick in all the right places. Ian shakes his head.

"Will you come inside me, Mick?"

Mickey's voice is raked across a hoarseness. "Yeah, yeah, fuck I will. If you're sure it's okay?"

"It's not okay unless you don't get over here and in me already."

"Needy little bitch, aren't ya, Gallagher?"

"I'm _/your/_ needy bitch. Always have been, always will be." Ian lets Mickey close, continue taking the lead, watching Mickey grab that same tube of lube on the nightstand.

He moves his forearms across the borrowed pillows of his boyfriend's, the cuffs already striving off his natural instincts to yank Mickey's hair and pound him into the bed.

"Fuckin' right you are," Mickey whispers right back, kissing Ian gently on his lips, keeping their noses mashed together as he slicks himself up. Ian watches with brief filtering eyes, breathing harsh groans.

Mickey is finished not even thirty seconds later, his hands cupping Ian's wrists, fingertips playing with the cuff chain. "You need me to?"

"No, no I'm good. I know you've got me. I trust you."

"You gonna watch me put it in?" Mickey smirks against Ian's mouth and he already knows the giant ginger like the back of his own hand.

Ian spreads his legs for a brief stretch, and Mickey helps pull them onto his shoulders. Ian sucks at the air, open, vulnerable for Mickey Milkovich - whose blue eyes are so fucking lit with affection, love. Ian jiggles the cuffs in a lapse of forgetting they're there, wanting to touch Mickey's face. Mickey doesn't stop his holding gaze with Ian. He drags his cock across Ian's exposed rim - across his balls, right across Ian's own cock, swiping his leaking head across Ian's. He's the moment's master, Ian bowing off the bed, his knuckles beating into their headboard.

Mickey grins, his insides a goddamn mess at what's about to happen. That heart stopping, halting moment when he's about to connect with Ian Gallagher, the way his breathing stutters everytime they get this close. And he wants Ian to be okay during this. He wraps a hand around himself, easing his tip right inside Ian's tight heat. Mickey is sure he'll have to ask Ian to take off the cock ring so he can use it, because he is pushing inside Ian slowly, very slowly, and the heat is so overpowering and tight that he nearly shoots his load right then and there.

"Mickey, fuck. Just... Just." Ian's impatient whine gives Mickey all the encouragement he needs, gratifying Ian with a languid thrust.

They're vocal tonight. Chatty, full of the filthy, sinful talk. Mickey is eating it up, dishing it out. Ian gives it right back. Like always.

"Christ, Ian, you're tight as fuck."

"Then fuck me open for fuck's sake, Mickey."

They grin at each other, Mickey stroking Ian's ankles affectionately as he bottoms out with one more snap of his hips. Ian mewls, seeking out something to dig his short nails into. Mickey is high, sky rocketing into a body bend, fucking himself into Ian. "What's that, slutty mumbles?"

"Feels s' good. Do this more, we need.... Shit!" Ian's lashes are wet, honest to god wet with tears. Mickey would worry if he didn't know that feeling himself.

He's boasting on pride, letting Ian's legs drop to wrap around his waist so he can bring their mouths together. They kiss each time Mickey moves, Ian's bound hands serving to nuzzle Mickey's driving. He bites at Ian's lip, lips moving across the damp skin, biting into Ian's stubble ridden jaw, tasting the shell of his ear, brushing against the red sideburns. He licks a slow wet stripe across Ian's neck, jabbing his tongue to encircle Ian's rapidly bobbing Adam's apple. Ian digs his heels into Mickey's ass, tossing his head back, muttering obscenities.

They move like this for minutes more, hours more, fuck if they have any concept of time. Ian has Mickey held tightly to him, his long, muscular legs reminding the men of their power. Slippery thighs against Mickey's hips, Mickey's thumb is wiggling, twitching, and Ian agrees in a silent nod. Mickey carefully presses against Ian's windpipe with it and thrusts hard and fast, setting a brutal pace that has the mattress bucking underneath in pathetic squeaks and creaks. Ian sees those shapes that taunt him, the ring around him unwelcomed. Mickey ignores his protests to leave it on.

"No, to hell with this. I'm makin' you come first."

"Mick, this is about you --"

He seeks out that small key, unlocking Ian's large hands, that curl into Mickey's hair, bringing them close. Mickey starts rocking in a fleeting momentum, trying to spin his hips a little to get to that place inside Ian. His stomach is tightening, uncoiling, tickling with pricking bites of his climax. And he's thanking his lucky stars and pretty hefty fucking skills that he hits that place inside his boyfriend before he does come first. Ian's eyes go saucer wide, Mickey's thumb lets Ian's jugular go, and pulls the cock ring off, bringing Ian up with him in his lap, holding him at red hair at the nape of his neck with one steady, strong hand, stroking Ian's ear, sending goosebumps down Ian's sides, right to his free cock.

Mickey's other hand is propelling Ian up and down, still in charge. He thrusts, fucks Ian right over his cock, getting that spot, he licks his hand and slides it across Ian, rolling his hips back, Ian's eyes so hauntingly lost in his own, knowing. One forward thrust is all it takes and Ian's ass swallows Mickey's cock in a vice grip that has him aware those tears are pricking the corner's of his lids too. Ian spurts all over Mickey's hand, their chests, tightening his legs around Mickey's lower back, kicking the bed comforter behind them, crying out so loudly that it forces Mickey's orgasm out. They hold each other through it.

Ian is milking his cock, shaking, his face buried in Mickey's neck now. Mickey brings him back to lock their eyes, laying Ian back down on the bed as it rushes towards him. He thrusts two more sloppy times as he comes inside Ian, collapsing in a heap atop him.

Ian is trembling, at ease, floating. The candles, the music all fog out in a fade. He cradles Mickey through his quaking cries, the warmth splashing inside him, filling him up. _Mickey._ He hums, kissing Mickey's sweaty neck. They don't break the connection for a few minutes. Even after they do, they lay with a shared smoke, talking about the videos. Mickey asking in a sarcastic, amused manner. "Where'd you learn to take cock like that?"

"I learned from the best." Ian mounts Mickey again, holding his hands over his own name on Mickey's skin. "Show me how to ride your cock like you ride mine, Mick."


End file.
